My name is Daniella Diaz. I live on the beautiful island of Ducie. We have a saying here: “Work to play, the Ducie way”. It kind of means that you get out what you put in. We’re like one big working family here, which sounds sort of cheesy, but it’s also kind of true.
In the morning, I get up when the miner’s wagon alarm goes off. It’s a horrible, shrieking kind of noise, like somebody blowing a really long, dud note on a trumpet. I suppose over time, I’ve come to like what it represents though. The start of another day in paradise. I don’t have to get up when I hear it. It’s just a noise to let the miners know that the wagon’s waiting. But I hate to think that the day’s beginning without me, so most days, I roll out of bed and watch the miners haul their gear onto the back of the wagon. They look so worn down, so tired. Some of them look like they didn’t bother washing the dirt away from yesterday’s shift. But I suppose what’s the point? They’re only going to get grubby again in a few hours. Then the old wagon rattles off to its next pick-up and I hear the trumpet again in the distance. I’ve learnt to tell who they’re stopping off for from how far away the trumpet sounds. The trumpet alarm that wakes me, that’s for Lucio. His house is in the same row as mine. He always keeps them waiting a while. He’s a big man, with muscles. You know, like a wrestler or something. His rucksack looks so small on his huge shoulders, like his back is going to break through the straps at any moment. It never does though. I like to imagine what he carries in that bag that he could possibly need down a mine. A book perhaps, for when he’s on his break. Or a sandwich or two for when he needs to get his strength up. Whatever it is, he carries that bag every day, then he’s in the wagon and he’s gone with the rest of them. I love to go outside when they’re gone and just smell the fumes that the wagon left behind, while I watch dust and the sand settle its way back to the earth.
I’d like to tell you about my life, about my parents, my childhood, my past, but I wouldn’t know what to say. My memory isn’t the best and I don’t like to worry about it. Perhaps three years, or four I could tell you about. Before that though, I get a little confused. I know I was a child once, because this adult body must have grown from something. I just don’t remember. It’s a bit like when you’re dreaming and you’re in a place, but how you got there, well…. that bit wasn’t part of the dream. You’re just kind of there and you don’t really question it. I love this place though; everybody does, so why would anyone question it?
Today’s the first time I really felt sad on this island.
Every month, we go to King Eduardo’s Estate for a pregnancy test. It always seemed a bit pointless for me, because I’ve never….you know….done anything like that, anything to even warrant needing a pregnancy test. I’m not stupid. I know how it all works. I just….never found myself in that sort of situation yet, you know? They’re just a bit jumpy about it, so everyone has to do it. Nobody’s ever shown up positive before as far as I know. We all know the rules. One in, one out. It’s horrible really, to think that someone would have to die to make way for the baby. Someone at random too. That’s the most horrible part about it. One of your friends would have to be put to their death and it’s all your fault. I’ve heard that they have a small cage, like the ones they keep the ducks in. Just big enough for a man inside, if his knees are tucked up under his chin. And with a lock so firm that he’d never stand a chance of getting out even if he did have room to struggle. Then they take him out on a boat, where the waters are deep and a little murkier and they just push him overboard. I don’t know how true it is, but Vasco swears that King Eduardo told him that on the beach one night after he’d drank a bit too much wine.
The Element of Anti Expansion they call it. Their way of keeping the population at 61. They don’t believe in abortion. And why should they? Why should a precious unborn baby suffer for somebody else’s mistake.
And I swear to you this was not my mistake!
When Eduardo said that I was pregnant, I thought he was joking. But then he started stuttering and stammering and he looked like was trying not to cry. He laughed a little, but it was that nervous sort of laugh. He wasn’t joking around.
He told me that there was a chance nobody would have to die. That Andrea’s recent death would balance the new baby’s arrival. That the baby would simply take his place and we’d still be an island of 61. But it all depends on one thing….
Whether Jennifer and Lionel have made a baby of their own yet. They were given the Right to Birth vacancy fair and square after Andrea died. Everyone knows they’ve been at it like rabbits ever since. They were meant to have a baby; I wasn’t. So if someone has to die, then it’s my fault. I’d accept that if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve never done anything in my whole life that would cause me to be pregnant.